


Wouldn't it be quite poetic?

by mee4ever



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek has to figure it out, Lonely Derek Hale, Love Confessions, M/M, Mates, Mystery, POV Derek, Researcher Stiles Stilinski, literally don't know how to tag this fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: There's enough undeniable proof that Derek's the cause of everything. He must've fucked something up monumentally for things to have gotten so out of hand, and then he'd just left. Maybe he pissed off a spark who cursed him and the town and then when he left, the town suffered more than he did. Derek hasn't had it bad, exactly, but he has not had it particularly good either. He's managed. Who would curse someone to "manage," though? He puts everything back up on the board again and sighs. He spins slowly, trying to find something that reminds him, but all he ends up with is staring himself in the face in the mirror.Or the one where Derek comes back, but he has to solve why everyone else is gone.





	Wouldn't it be quite poetic?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Close to Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375648) by [idkmybffspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkmybffspock/pseuds/idkmybffspock). 



> I managed to write a fic for the Sterek Reversebang, and here it is folks! MY FIRST BANG CONTRIBUTION EVERRRR!  
> I was so lucky to get my first choice of artwork from [idkmybffspock](http://idkmybffspock.tumblr.com/) which you can find [HERE](http://idkmybffspock.tumblr.com/post/176122886390/sterekreversebang-free-to-be-no-one-but-mee-you)!  
> Myyyy wonderful beta [randoyoyo](http://randoyoyo.tumblr.com/) helped me out with the editing and when I got stuck, so shout out to her! Any and all remaining mistakes are entirely my own.  
> I had a great time and got more in touch with Sterek-people in discord which was a bonus I hadn't even considered before. I really hope you like it!

He drives past the sign and it’s like stepping through a waterfall of ice. Coming out on the other side, thus leaving the rest of the world behind, Derek wonders silently to himself why he thought it a good idea to come back at all.

The sun sets as he drags the Camaro down the road, slowing to way under the speed limit to allow himself time to adjust or turn again. The scene set before him paints Beacon Hills in better light than it is worth; pinks and oranges cascading over rooftops and through branches and it looks staggeringly beautiful. Calm, clean, and such a stark contrast to gritty New York. But the memories here are different. Even the good ones are tainted with bloodshed and the smell of ashes. At least, in New York, Derek is anonymous, just another guy trying to make his way through life. Why is he back here, again?

It’s deserted. He doesn’t meet a single car from the sign welcoming him home until he parks out on the street outside of the McCall residence. Derek doesn’t know if he should be pleased or worried that he doesn’t have to deal with anyone’s questioning looks or lingering pity-stares. It’s been many years since the fire, and yet, that’s the only thing people who don’t know him remember. And the people that _do_ know him, Derek doesn’t really have the urge to see either. He cuts the engine and looks up at the house. It looks dark. Maybe Scott doesn’t live here anymore. It’s been three years since Derek left and it wouldn’t be weird if Scott had moved away from home. Derek doesn’t know where else to start, though, so he takes a breath and gets out. The air is humid and pressing, but it has potential to drop a couple degrees as the sun sets further.

The car door slamming sounds way too loud in the eerie quiet. Derek looks around, almost expecting some were-whatever to jump him or a silver bullet to pierce his shoulder. But nothing. It’s almost worse to know that something might happen and then it doesn’t, rather than something actually attacking. Once outside the car, it’s even further noticeable just how calm the night is. Beacon Hills might not be a big town, but usually, there’s at least movement, even after eight when it’s getting dark, and even on a Thursday night. Quickly, he makes way up to the porch and he rings the doorbell. The urge to look over his shoulder is strong, but he forces himself not to. Listens in instead, and hears nothing. No footsteps, no heartbeats, no nothing here either. He turns. Looking out over the neighborhood, and the feeling that something is shady keeps growing. As Derek looks out over the street, lined with house after house after house towards the town center, he notices that not a single one has its lights turned on. The rooms and porches are as dark as the place is quiet. A creeping feeling that something is _definitely_ wrong makes its presence known and Derek quickly gets back into his car.

He drives a loop around town. Past his old high school, the field, the big supermarkets, everywhere he can think of a large crowd gathering. It’s to no avail; there’s not a single person anywhere. What had at first felt like a blessing, now drags up serious cause for concern. The whole town can’t just have vanished. Right?

For a brief moment, it feels like a prank. Like someone with the worst sense of humor made sure the entire Beacon Hills hide as Derek comes back. Not only is it moronic because Derek hasn’t told anyone that he was planning on coming back, but also because he doesn’t know anyone who’d even consider pranking him. With that in mind, he drives around town and knocks on all doors of people that might’ve helped him if they had been there. Deaton and the clinic, the hospital, the police station, the Martin’s, (reluctantly) the Argent’s. The half-moon is high in the sky when he comes to a full stop outside of the McCall residence again. There’s definitely no one around. The whole fucking town is empty and there’s not a trace of anyone. So, there’s really only one thing left to do.

He gets out of the car again and when he gets to the front door this time, he doesn’t knock. He takes the doorknob in his hand and twists it until the mechanism cracks. He puts his shoulder to the door and gives it a push. It gives in with a crunch. The air inside is colder than the outside, but as Derek takes a breath, it doesn’t feel all that stale. With the supernatural scene looking as it always has in Beacon Hills, Derek’s at least pretty sure it isn’t because a couple windows are open. It means that it can’t have been left empty for long.

The house is as quiet as everything else. Nothing looks particularly out of order before Derek goes into Scott’s room and finds a bat. There are long pieces of what looks like sharpened ice skate blades stuck to the top, running down towards the handle, and it looks like a home crafted, four-sided battle axe made for killing _really bad things._ Derek stares at it for a second because it looks heinous. For reasons unbeknownst to himself, he picks it up. Despite the post-apocalyptic feel of such a monster, it sits easily in Derek’s hand and the weight of it somehow comforting. Like whoever used it—because it sure as hell wasn’t Scott—had not only survived because of it but struck fear in the most gruesome of creatures. It feels a lot like his own claws feel in times of danger, even if this is an inanimate object.

Without really deciding to, Derek brings the bat when he leaves and tries his luck at the next house. It's disheartening. Despite wanting nothing to do with this shithole and the people in it, Derek's quest to find _anyone_ leaves him empty handed and half-way to desperate. There's no way of completely knowing whether it's foul play involved, but as he spins on the spot on the road after breaking into Argent's house and finding nothing but guns, he's sure that whatever has happened is not going to undo itself. Without a better plan, Derek bends his head and cracks out his teeth. His claws extend, he hunches, he knows his eyes glow fiercely red, and he roars. Loud, clear, and should there be anyone around, surely they'd hear it.

A couple of birds. That's all he picks up. Fluttering of wings and tiny heart and then those are gone as well. Derek drops his head and lets his fangs retreat. There's really only one more place on his list.

~~

As he pulls up to the Sheriff's house, he remembers coming here a lot before leaving last time. He hasn't thought about it for a long time, but when he comes up to the door, he realizes that he doesn't have to break down this one. He knows the spare key is in the flowerpot of dead Hortensias, and he's almost surprised by himself that when he reaches into it, his fingers actually wrap around a key. Sure, he and the Sheriff had to work together, sometimes with Scott, and their paths crossed because of the supernatural and Stilinski’s constant involvement as Sheriff, but Derek frowns because he can't remember the Sheriff ever telling him about the key. He puts it in the lock either way, and it fits.

Swinging the door open feels dangerously close to coming home. It makes him falter and stop on the threshold for a second. Derek hasn't even called his New York apartment "home." It is "the flat" or a variant of such because it isn’t a home, even less _his_ home. Nothing has been home for him many years. And to feel at home in the Sheriff's house, well, that's just uncanny. He steps in and he doesn’t know if he’d expected it to be different, but it is as quiet as the rest of the town. Derek hopes that the Sheriff has some research going—since the station had turned up empty. Anything that can lead to why the town is like it is. Unless, of course, everything became this way with a snap of fingers. If that’s the case, Derek's shit out of luck.

The house is sparse. He remembers briefly that the Sheriff has a son, but there are no pictures in the house, and Derek doesn't even remember what his name is. He shakes himself. It doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. He takes a lap around the downstairs. There are a couple police boxes of files in the living room, but after a quick search Derek finds that they're cold cases from at least five years ago, nothing that screams "the town is gone right now." There's nothing else. It’s discouraging and he wants to give up. There’s nothing here. It’s more of a precaution than an actual belief he’ll find something that he goes to search the upstairs as well.

The stairs creak. Derek doesn't remember, but his body does because he jumps over the fourth step and places his foot on the fifth immediately. It doesn't make sense. Why would he know what steps in the Sheriff's house that do and do not creak? He shakes his head, focuses back on the task at hand. There's a big crack in the wall just in front of the top of the stairs. He creeps himself out with thinking that he doesn't remember that being there before. Why has he ever seen the top floor of the Stilinski household? He doesn't stop to inspect it. Instead, puts down the bat to the cracked wall and he heads to the right, to the master bedroom. The door is open and the room holds nothing but a pair of reading glasses and an almost too well-made bed. It doesn't look like someone has been sleeping there for a while. Which is odd. Unless... the Sheriff and Mrs. McCall actually got it together in the end. They were- God. Why does he know so much useless trivia about the Sheriff? He shakes his head and looks across the hall. There are two more doors, another bedroom—right, the son's room—and probably some sort of closet. Derek takes the closet first. It's only packed with normal things: old clothes, book, CDs, and a couple different toys and gear. Nothing spectacular. So, only the last door left. When he turns to it, puts a hand on the handle, he gets the same kind of cold shower-feeling as he got driving past the city limit. Hesitating, he looks around, trying to figure out what his wolf-senses are picking up on. The hall is mostly empty, just a laundry bag carelessly tossed on one side. And then the crack in the wall, leading into the room. He perks his ears but nothing has changed. There are no heartbeats, no breaths, no footsteps, no cars. He turns the handle.

The son's room is a mess but that’s not what shocks Derek to a halt. All the smells overwhelm him and he has to take a moment to collect himself. He feels his fingers itch, the hair on his arms stand, his heart beats out of his chest, and he can feel a growl wanting to slip between his lips. He swallows, pushes it all down, and looks around. There's a transparent board in the middle of the room, had it not been so full of research and writing. There's an entire wall covered as well, post-its, printed pages, copied pages, ripped-out pages, photos, notes, and meters and meters of string in different bright colors. It looks like a serial killer wall of death, except for the fact that Derek can easily see that it's supernatural research. There's a triskele on the top, case files, and references to case numbers. Derek steps up to the wall. It's a lot to take in, but facts are easier than trying to decipher what his body is doing. He feels like he's missed this place. He can't have because he hasn't ever been in here before. So, he focuses his attention on the research, really emerges himself in it. It's the first piece of evidence he has had that _anyone_ knew that something was going on. Even if he maybe won't find it immediately (because this person has surely no order to their research) it feels like maybe he'll at least find a clue to lead him in the right direction.

~~

After three hours, he's barely covered a fourth of the wall. Then there's all research on the board, the desk, and the floor. There are a lot of question marks. Not just from Derek, but from whoever did the research as well. There are post-its like "NEMETON?", "LOOP?" and "HIBERNATION?" and none of the question marks seem to have real answers. Derek is not even sure if they're hypothetical, if they matter, or if they're just random scraps of "hey, could it be this, maybe?". It feels impossible to figure anything out. He sighs, drags a hand over his face, and sits down on the bed. It sinks down comfortably around him and he looks down at the covers. On simple impulse, he leans down and sniffs the pillow. He's almost disgusted with himself until his nostrils really catch the faint smell of another being, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his head down, takes a deep breath, and his wolf-senses again go completely insane. He wants to claw through the fabric to get to whoever smells like this, to be close to them, take comfort in them, to protect them. He grabs the pillow and shoves his entire face into it. He tries to grapple from where he knows the smell, why it makes him feel like this, but he doesn't know. The Sheriff's... kid, isn't exactly someone Derek has hung around, and not the Sheriff himself either. Derek curls up, weariness finally catching up to him and he closes his eyes. For whatever it feels weird and he doesn't understand, he feels comfortable and safe as he falls asleep on the bed still fully dressed.

~~

He wakes in the early hours, the sun filtering in through broken blinds. He feels clubbed, like instead of deciding to go to bed, someone hit him over the head and he passed out. It's been years since _that_ happened and with the town completely deserted, he's sure that was not the case. His body strains when he gets up. Doesn't really want to leave the bed, but more importantly, the safe smell of it. It's embarrassing, but he exchanges his jacket for a bright orange hoodie he finds on the chair which smells exactly like it. It sits almost a little snug, but it's warm and comfortable. He should probably feel like it's a bad thing to wear some other guy's clothes, especially one he doesn't even know, but there's no one there to judge him, so he doesn’t care. He scratches his beard and wonders if it's considered squatting to stay here, and stealing to eat what they have in the fridge (if there even is anything in there). It probably doesn't matter. And Derek can pay them back when they come back. If he can figure out _how_ to get them back.

Turns out, there is food in the fridge. The vegetables are fresh even, which is yet another clue that the lost town can't have been lost for too long. A couple days at most. Derek frowns before plucking things out to make an omelet while pondering it. Coincidently, he started driving from New York a couple days ago. He doesn’t _want_ it to be a connection between the two, but when he thinks about it, he hadn't exactly planned this trip back home. It had come out of the blue, a sudden urge- No, it wasn't really an urge. It felt like a _need_ to come back. Like he wasn't really complete on the other side of the country. Not that he had felt entirely like himself since he left last time, but this sudden "everything is crap if you don't go home"-feeling hadn't been there when he went to sleep, and when he woke up... He doesn't want to be any part of what has happened, but he must admit that it's a strong possibility that he's somehow connected. Maybe someone has somehow connected him with the town. Or maybe he's the one hope it has left and because he's supernatural, the Nemeton called out and he responded. That could also mean that he won't be alone for long. Beacon Hills is a literal beacon of the supernatural on a normal day, and a thing like this threatening the town could surely attract even more.

Unless it is protection, he thinks. To hide the town _from_ the supernatural. Maybe someone threw the town into a mirror and everything supernatural that passes only find themselves in an empty town. It wouldn't be too far off to imagine, even if Derek doesn’t know any sparks since before the fire. Especially not one strong enough for that kind of magic. That doesn’t mean the town doesn't inhabit a spark, but they are usually unable to hide among supernaturals for long. Scott never mentioned one, and he, if anyone, should've known about one. It doesn't feel like protection, though. It feels like something's wrong, and that it has been wrong for a long time. Going off of the research he has found, it has been three extreme years since Derek left.

He eats and the cutlery clattering is too loud. There's nothing else that makes any type of sound. After New York and then a rumbling car for three days, the silence is killing him, but the interruption of it is even worse. He pulls out his phone and wants to put on some music, but he realizes that he doesn't have any songs and that the internet isn't working. Typical, he can't even get reception in this shithole.

After cleaning up after himself, he explores the living room instead. He thought he remembered an old record player and pleasantly finds his memory serves him correctly. There are vinyl records in a stack next to it, fifties rock-n-roll mostly, Buddy Holly and Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley. Derek blinks at it, his heart feeling too large for his ribcage because some of the records he recognizes from his own father’s collection. It burnt down with him, but Derek still remembers the music.

He finds Buddy Holly's self-titled album and puts on the second side. He puts the needle down and "Everyday" fills the house. It was his favorite song as a kid, and he has seen countless videos of himself dancing to it in just his diapers. That, together with the smell of his stolen hoodie, Derek chokes up. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm his once-again racing heart. His family died so many years ago, yet it feels like they were just here. He hasn't been happy since then, he thinks. At least not for any long period of time, and after Laura and Peter? Then, no. He's found himself actively choosing to go on, to live, and sometimes, with Erica and Boyd and Isaac, he was edging in on happiness. It all went to shit, of course; everything always goes to shit with Derek involved. He doesn't even know why he stayed so long in Beacon Hills after that. Why he didn't just opt out and leave for New York again immediately? He guesses the town and all supernatural in it, even if most of it was just Scott or bad guys, was more secure. Known. Something to live by. But almost another three years like that? Why had he done that?

Granted, it isn’t exactly like New York is any better. There he’s even further isolated and nobody cares about him in the slightest. In the end, maybe that’s better for everyone else. He can’t hurt anyone if there is no one to hurt.

The song comes to an end. He'd thought it'd be better with some music, something familiar, but he turns it off and puts the vinyl back in its case. Silence is underrated. He slugs up the stairs and dives into the research again, determined to find something of value in there.

~~

It doesn't seem like the wall and meticulously going through it is the best approach, even if all useful information surely must be on there. Derek tries to get into the computer, but it's password protected and he has no idea where to even start trying to figure it out. This person doesn't seem to be one to use a simple one, either. He ends up going through the boxes, rummaging through the papers on the desk, and when he's just about to give himself a break after finding absolutely nothing, he sees a voice recorder on the ground just by his feet. It's small, silver metallic and looks like a remote control for a television. It doesn't seem far off that this mad researcher recorded themself. He picks it up. It takes him a second to figure out how to get it on and how to maneuver it, but it feels like it's the first win since finding this room when he sees that it has almost fully charged batteries, and there are actually recordings on its memory. It takes another second to realize that there are _many_ recordings. Enough so that he doesn't know where to start. If he starts from the beginning, who knows how many hours of recorded material there is? If he starts at the end, maybe he'll get the conclusion of all the research all in one go? He decides to take the last recorded segment—a three-minute piece—and presses play.

The recorder sparks to life. As in the middle of a sentence already, a man's voice starts speaking, and it's deep, unsteady, and he has a rasp far back in his throat. Just the sound of it makes Derek's hands shake. He stares down and tries to listen to the words.

" _...maybe it's my fault. Everything seems to come back to me, doesn't it? Maybe the nogitsune never fully left. I don't know how I'd be able to do it all, but it's chaos. Everything's turned upside-down and we're completely stuck here. I want to go, but I can't and I don't even know where I'd go. Maybe I'd just drag the bad stuff with me. Curse another town... Did I curse the town? Is that what it is? Magic? I mean, I... Maybe. I'm not even sure if it matters. I can't get anyone to see it anyway. Maybe it's just me going mad. Maybe I'm not even here._ "

Derek stops the tape. This guy is clearly heavily involved in the supernatural scene, and it feels like Derek should know about him. Derek thought he knew everyone in Scott's circle that was in anyway involved; Christ, he knows that Danny is privy to know about things and he's never even exchanged words with the guy. But here is this guy, with a voice that makes Derek want to push his way through the recorder to get to him, smelling like home, knowing about too much to be casually involved, and Derek doesn't even know his name. The more he tries to remember it, the less is it possible. He thought maybe it was something with "S" but then got uncertain and now, if he hadn't just heard the voice, he wouldn't even have been sure it was a _guy._  There is too much about him that doesn’t add up and Derek tries to push it out of his mind as he taps the recorder and the voice once again fills the empty space.

It doesn’t reveal all the secrets of the universe in the last part. It simply ends on theories and in the middle of another sentence. Derek sighs, debating whether or not it is worth it to listen to everything on there. On one hand, it _could_ reveal more things, especially about the research that Derek tries to get himself submerged in, but it could also be a wild goose chase which leaves him more unsure about everything than before. In the end, it is Derek's instincts to hear that voice again that makes him choose to tap forward the first bit of sound and press play. He lays down on the bed, almost snuggling into the hood of the shirt and he listens.

It is clear that this guy is used to research, as well as the supernatural kind. He must've been present when Scott got bit way back when. Maybe he even helped. Derek hadn't wanted to get to know Scott, and so he hadn't tried getting to know any of his friends. He tries not to think about that time all too much, especially so when things get blurry around the edges and- It's simply for the best to let the past be the past.

~~

He quickly becomes obsessed with the recordings. Most of it is just constant blabbering, often so about things Derek doesn't care about or know anything about, but somehow it's still intriguing. He wants to listen to everything, so he keeps the recorder on and makes it shout at him as he goes through the rest of the research. He realizes almost halfway through it that it's not research for just the one thing. It's years of it pulled together, connecting dots and looking for patterns. Some patterns, Derek can decipher, are really there, while some must simply be coincidences. He knows enough about the moon-phase and its mysteries to dismiss a couple of ideas, and he takes the post-its "WEREWOLF EPIDEMIC?" and "MOON CYCLE MANIA?" down. After listening to a couple hours of this guy’s rants, Derek's almost completely certain that those are gag post-its anyway. For some unbeknownst reason, the guy seems to think no idea is too far-fetched than the other, and even those that are complete wack have made it to the board until he's been able to rule them out.

Every time he starts thinking about the voice, however, the thoughts put a vile taste in his mouth like he's not supposed to think too hard about it. Because he has more important things to focus on, he only lets the voice fill him and he tries to get the gist of what it's actually saying instead. Most of it is unusable. Some things are old post-its in the trash, some of it is simply blabbers about the guy's day and the Sheriff, sometimes Scott and other people that Derek knows. It's strange to hear about them all. It hurts, too. Because Derek would have surely been a part of these tapes as well if he'd stayed. If he hadn't stayed away when he was here. Just the thought of being a part of them makes his heart clench. He's not been a part of anything for a long time.

The tapes keep him company. Songs and music don't work a fraction as good, so Derek sticks to putting on the next two-hour rant once the last one cuts off. And he tries to solve the quiet mystery.

~~

_“...and to tell you the truth? Everything becomes increasingly worse with each day passing. Scott is holding up hope. Always. But anyone with a stance objective enough can see that we're drowning. This is like our high school years hiked up on crack, and we barely made it out alive then. I- Some of us didn't. I don't want anyone else to take the plunge just because we're naive enough to think we'll manage on our own. We don't even have Creepy Peter to fall back on...."_

_"...hurt yesterday. Nothing major, he'll survive, of course, why wouldn't he with all his werewolf superpowers? But I'm on edge here, man. What if next time it's not someone who heals that is pierced by a motherfucking longsword? What if it's my dad? What if Dad gets caught again? What will I have left? What if it's me? What will_ he _have left? Huh? I can't fucking deal with thinking about him alone. It's not Scott's fault. I shouldn't have..."_

_"...quiet day today. I'm just waiting for the shoe to drop. Can't eat. Or relax. Anxiety is a bitch on a normal day, but waiting for someone to attack is worse. Can't believe it's been so long since just one day was calm that a calm day is now the rarity. Feels like we’re trudging in the same muddy hole. Hate this, really. All of it. Can't think about anything else, can't focus on anything but research. It looks like a pile of crap too..."_

_“...have about seven million reasons for why all of this is happening. I’ve narrowed it down enough so that about eighty-two percent of those are unlikely, seven percent impossible and two percent improbable. That leaves us with six percent that are likely, two that are highly likely, and one percent that is downright probable. Out of seven million, one percent is about seventy thousand theories. Do you understand just how many theories that is? It’s March 20th, and I feel like I’m retracing my own steps with each passing day...”_

_“...we're in deep shit. Scott and Isaac don't know where he is, I definitely don't, and there's no way to reach him. We're going to have to figure this out on our own, but it seems I'm the only one trying. They don't understand that this isn't just Beacon Hills being Beacon Hills. I can't seem to get through to anyone. God, I wish- I wish- You know what? I'm not even gonna be that selfish. That's why he isn't here in the first place...”_

_"...well into March and this shit is just not stopping. A new evil every day. If anyone knows how we keep surviving, please let me know. I’m glad I can fight my way out of situations. I've got more aces up my sleeve than sarcasm, I’ve bulked, I have my… Most of the time it’s nice not having to rely on someone else to save me, but man, I’d give anything for my knight in shining armor to come save me right now…”_

_"...it has to. Werewolves? It could be. The moon phases, I guess, but there's nothing indicating as such. It must be magic, something supernatural, something that is pissed or something that wants something really badly. Maybe magic gone bad? Maybe someone drew power from the Nemeton and they were a bitch so the Nemeton got upset? And now it's taking it out on us? That's a valid theory, no? No. Because we would've known if someone used magic. It might be..."_

_"...we ever going to get out of this hell hole? If it weren't for Scott and the others would this town have disappeared already? Are we trying to save something that is already doomed? Should we give up? It's like nothing is bad enough to take the town down, but everything is just enough to chip another piece of our tolerance for it. What if that's the catch? Is something making sure we're occupied all the time? We're not supposed to enjoy life. Maybe this is punishment? What if Beacon Hills actually is Hell, with a capital H? I wouldn't be surprised if I were completely honest..."_

_"...I mean, seriously? We're tired. Everyone thought I'd have it all figured out by now. Even I did. But I'm just letting everyone down, day after day, because I haven't cracked whatever code or spell or whatever-the-fuck is at play. I don't know, okay? March 20th. I officially give up..."_

~~

As time progresses in the recordings, the voice becomes more and more tired, less and less energized. Derek can hear the exhaustion, the bags under his eyes, and the hope of solving everything slip away piece by piece. At one point, nearing the end, Derek realizes the guy doesn't pace anymore. He can clearly hear that he's just sitting, the recorder probably in his hand and he just... talks. Like he really has given up.

~~

It's been a couple of long days, so Derek sits down on the bed and allows himself not to dig through the research either and just listens. The voice talks about wanting to leave. It’s raw and honest and Derek relates to him on a deep, emotional level. He must've gone through at least two years worth of recordings by this point, and Derek has to hand it to him that holding out for just a few months of the crap he's gone through is remarkable. Derek knows the feeling of not getting to rest properly very well.

For a while there, the guy had felt determined. Like he'd be damned if he couldn't crack this case. By the time Derek gets a few minutes into the second-to-last piece, he's pretty sure most of that determination has withered into dust.

_“...dad got me this tape-recorder, you know? He said ‘Son, at least you’ll do something useful’. He thinks I talk to myself a lot. Don’t know where he’s gotten that from. Before he got me this, he tried making me talk to Scott on the phone, but he butts in all the time, interrupting my flow, so I can’t do that. I don’t know why he cares. I’ve talked to myself for years, and suddenly now it’s a problem? I’m sure he’s just worried, it’s not been the same since-”_

Derek pauses the tape. He's reaching the end of the recordings, there's no question about it. Maybe it's time to give them up. He’s already heard the absolute last one and that didn’t give him anything. It's not like they've really revealed anything more than he can find on the board anyway. Although, when he tries to lay the recorder away on top of the bed stand, he feels empty. He blames it on the quiet and solitude. He needs something to keep him company, and after a couple days of hearing the voice constantly, it's even worse to have it quiet than it had been when he didn't have the option. With a sigh, he picks it up again and presses play.

 _“...Derek left. I try not to-”_ Derek looks at the recorder in his hand and rewinds it. “ _...a problem? I’m sure he’s just worried, it’s not been the same since Derek left.”_ What does that mean? It wasn’t like him and Derek knew each other. He was just… Scott’s friend? Something like that. He starts it again. “ _I try not to think about it too hard, it’ll just send me spiraling, and there are more important things to be dealt with.”_ And that’s the end of the clip. Why would he go spiraling thinking about Derek? What had Scott even told him? It wasn't like Derek was an integral part of this guy's life. He was barely a part of Scott's. It makes him feel ill to ponder it, so he shakes himself and goes for a run.

~~

He's been cooped up in the room for too long he realizes when he's out. The evening isn't exactly chilly, but he feels like the town has broken its fever and is on its way to becoming pleasant. His bones crack and he feels older than ever when he jogs through town. He tunes into his own heartbeat and breaths, and the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, not to think about the quiet. Running doesn't clear his head like it did when he was younger. Nowadays, it always feels more like he's running from something (and isn't that the truth?) and despite the fact that he's not been chased by anything rouge in years, the instinct still sticks with him. A never-tiring voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he's never _really_ safe anywhere as long as he has fangs and claws. And because he's always going to possess those...

It doesn’t take long before he’s back in the house, in the cluttered bedroom, feeling like it had been a bad idea to leave at all. It only made him feel antsy and empty but surrounded by the research, he can at least pretend he’s getting somewhere.

~~

He turns on the last recording. It sparkles to life quickly, and the guy says, _“Today’s March 20th, I’ve just...”_

Derek sits up. His head spins and he grabs the recorder, backtracking the tape to the beginning of the clip and listens again. He’d completely missed whatever he’d been saying the absolute first time he’d listened and now this is interesting.

_“Today’s March 20th- Today’s March 20th- March 20th-”_

That… That’s the third time. Third time the voice says it’s the 20th of March and Derek snaps his gaze towards the big board of mysteries. He gets to his feet and stalks up to it, grabbing the post-it with “LOOP?” written in bold letters. It’s a fucking _loop_. Beacon Hills is stuck in a godforsaken time-loop. Derek laughs to himself and feels his shoulders drop. He looks up and where the post-it was carelessly placed is now a picture displayed. The initial happiness of getting somewhere is drenched in the extreme sensation that he’s found something even more disturbing. On the wall, is a picture of Derek himself. He’s in profile, eyes closed, smiling, and he’s kissing a beauty marked cheek of another man. It could’ve been all well and fine had Derek known who the fuck that was and had any knowledge of that ever happening.

~~

He stares a hole into the picture. Not literally, of course, but he does roughen up the edges because he keeps carrying it around. He doesn't know this man, he doesn't know when the kiss happened, and he doesn't know why he doesn't remember. He should. He looks... happy. Not carefree, but more content than his face has looked in the mirror since he was a teenager. He looks at himself in the mirror now, looking down at the picture and up again, and he tries to figure out when it could have been taken. Since it's in Beacon Hills, it should be at least three years ago. It could've been even further back, but not too long. He has some stubble, almost a small beard, which means it must be after he got back from New York the first time. When Laura-

Derek bumps into the side of the mirror when he turns around, almost making it fall but he manages to save it. Like he needs another seven years of bad luck. He stares at the picture again instead of his reflection. Another question he wants to be answered: Who _took_ the picture? It doesn't look like it's either of them, and Derek would never even come up with the idea. Scott probably knows. If only he was here to be asked... And why does this guy have a picture of Derek kissing some random dude at all?

He scatters his brain, and the pieces fall slowly together. The way the man on the tapes has mentioned things being different when Derek wasn't in town, the way he sometimes talked about someone he’s lost. Slowly but surely, Derek realizes that the man in the picture is the same man that lives in this room. The same man whose voice is on the tapes, who has done all this research, whose hoodie Derek wears and bed he sleeps in. Derek drops the photo and stares at it on the ground. It doesn't make any sense. Whatsoever. Maybe it is a photo manipulation. You can do things like that nowadays, can't you? This guy has managed to find a picture of Derek somewhere and has edited himself into it. Yeah. That makes sense. So much more sense than Derek not knowing that he's even met the Sheriff's kid. Maybe Derek had gotten drunk. High on wolfsbane. Maybe he'd been so delirious one time when shot or- Or maybe, Derek simply doesn’t remember because he has repressed it. Something about the whole thing had been so horrible that Derek's subconscious has made it easier for him by not remembering a single thing. None of the theories feel in any way better than the other, and none of them rings true when he thinks them over again. He picks up the picture and pins it back on the board. He has to deal with whatever it means some other time. Now, he needs to figure out what sort of time-loop Beacon Hills is in, and how to get the town out of it.

But every time he looks away from the picture, it leaves his mind, and every time he looks back, it is like he's forgotten it was there in the first place. He isn’t as shocked the next couple times he sees it, but there’s an element of surprise that feels inherently _off_ about it.

~~

Two frustrating days go by. Solving a part of the mystery only makes him even further irritated because he can’t seem to solve the rest. Nothing really makes more sense now when he knows what the main problem is because he still doesn't know the root of it, nor why everyone's missing. Generally, he's just understood a small part of the entire thing.

When he stares himself to tears while looking at the board and the notes and the scribbles, he finally connects one more thing. Himself. He finds a list of names and looks like some kind of “could be connected”-list. Most of them are crossed out, like Scott and Isaac, but also dead people, like Allison and Boyd. Derek’s stomach twists when he sees Boyd’s name, so he scans the rest of the list only to see if there are any more that aren’t crossed out. It’s only Jackson, and his own. But Jackson isn’t here, and he’s not been mentioned anywhere else. The voice on the tapes talked about Derek specifically and he has realized the guy must've meant Derek more than the once he called him by name. Then there's the picture of Derek, some research on the wall could be for _finding_ him, and finally, the fact that Derek got the feeling out of nowhere that he had to go back to a town that he hates.

There's enough undeniable proof that Derek is definitely the cause of everything. He must've fucked something up monumentally for things to have gotten so out of hand, and then he'd just left. Has he suppressed whatever it was that he did? Because it can't just have been leaving, no, he must've done something. Hurt something... Someone? Maybe he pissed off a spark who cursed him and the town and then when he left, the town suffered more than he did. Derek hasn't had it bad, exactly, but he has not had it particularly good either. He's managed. Who would curse someone to "manage," though? He puts everything back up on the board again and sighs. He spins slowly, trying to find something that reminds him, but all he ends up with is staring himself in the face in the mirror.

Did he do talk to anyone before he left? He didn't do anything special, he doesn’t think. One day he just left. Maybe he just fucked something up by leaving. Probably. Did he ever do anything that didn't fuck something else up? He makes a face, baring his teeth. His reflection just comes back looking pained. He hates it. He drags a hand over his scruff, realizing it hasn't become any longer since he got here. The loop, he guesses. He looks tired, though. He sighs and tries to smile instead. That looks even more fake than it feels, and he’s inches away from crying. He drops his shoulders and when he looks up the next time, anger overcomes him and he throws a fist at his own reflection.

And his hand goes straight through the mirror and drags his whole body through it.

~~

“Fucking-”

“OH, MY GOD!”

Derek straightens, blinks his tears away and looks around. He’s in a giant dome of windows, overlooking different sceneries of inside and outside of what presumably is Beacon Hills, and in the middle stands three-year-older Scott, staring open-mouthed at him. Coming up from behind him, however, is another man. Mole dotted skin, short brown hair, a steady frame, and the look on his face drags around a thousand emotions as he staggers up towards Derek.

"Derek! I’m so glad you’re here, man! Do you have any idea how boring it is to sit and watch a world through the mirrors of it and it's fucking _empty_? I don't know how _long_ we’ve been here, but it felt like forever, and then you came back to town and-"

"Who are you?" Derek asks. He knows, he can recognize the voice from the tapes, only because he's heard so many of them, but somehow he still can't really connect the two.

The guy looks at Derek like the question breaks his heart. "I'm Stiles. Stiles Stilinski, the Sheriff's son?" He says it like he asks if maybe Derek remembers him through his dad. And Derek frowns because he sort of does? Maybe? Despite living in his room for the last two weeks, he's not sure it's even his smell he catches when taking a large breath.

Scott steps between them. "Derek," he says again and Derek looks up at him. At least he smells normal. "Good to see you. We need to get out of here."

Derek doesn’t even bother with pleasantries. "How do we do that?"

St- Yeah, Stiles, pops his head over Scott's shoulder. "I think, if I can butt into the conversation, that Derek here might be able to just go back."

Scott and Derek look at him respectively. "Why?" Derek finally asks.

Stiles extends a hand and indicates behind Derek’s back. "Would you try?"

Derek shrugs and turns towards where he came from. The window overlooks all the research and he steps right back into the room again. When he looks back, he can't see anything other than his own reflection. It's... jarring, but he moves back into it, and Scott and… his best friend, is right there again. The friend pumps a fist in the air.

"I told you!" he yells. "I told you Derek was the solution!" Scott looks at Derek and wonders aloud how Derek does that. Derek shrugs again. "I just walk."

"Take us back with you!" the other guy asks and Derek looks at him. He looks weirdly familiar and like a total stranger at the same time. Was he there a minute ago?

Frowning, Derek asks Scott, "Who is he?"

Scott looks between them and Derek just raises his eyebrows. "It's Stiles. My best friend."

"Right," Derek says. "So, how am I supposed to 'take you back with me'?"

Stiles stares at him, and Derek doesn't know why. And Derek has had his days of being a creep and glaring at other people, he is familiar with the concept, but he doesn't think he has ever looked so wrecked while doing it. "Just..." the guy says and steps forward carefully. "Hold onto us and step back, I think." He looks shy when he holds a hand out. Derek doesn't have the time, he grabs the both of them and steps back out.

~~

Very surprisingly, it works. Never in a million years would Derek have expected anything to simply _work_ for him. Nothing is ever easy like that, and now, well, now he's not alone in Deserted Hills.

"This is incredible!"

Derek turns to look at Scott being hugged by the other guy. It's a weird sight. Scott looks so comfortable with it and Derek doesn't even know the guy, doesn't trust him. Scott never was the best judge of character, and maybe, as the tapes had suggested, this boy is the reason for all of this. It is his room, after all. His voice on the tapes and his research. Derek watches them part and the friend turns towards him. Scott cuts him off by putting a hand on his chest.

"I think we need to talk, Stiles."

Stiles looks at him, momentum gone, and he scratches the back of his head. "Yeah."

Scott nods and looks at Derek. “I need to talk to Stiles.”

Derek leans back against the desk, motions for him to do so. “Be my guest.”

“Alone,” Scott insists. “Could you, like, go downstairs and not listen?”

Not like Derek has questions or anything. He grumbles but agrees because there's no use in arguing. They're obviously not going to talk with him there, anyway. He stomps down the stairs, very loudly to show Scott how bad he doesn't like it at all, and goes to the kitchen to make some food. It's been a long day already.

Omelets have become his trademark and he does one now. Trying to ignore the buzzing of voices from upstairs because he can't hear what they're saying over the sizzling frypan anyway. Derek's not so sure he trusts this other guy but if Scott thinks it's safe enough to be alone with him, that's his prerogative. Derek just saved them from inside a mirror, but whatever. Scott's a werewolf, he can take care of himself. It's not like any monster is trying to kill them right this second. At least, Derek doesn't think so. He whisks the eggs too much just to stall the process and the pan is too hot once he pours the mixture in. It doesn't burn, but he gets distracted enough to forget about the guys upstairs for a minute.

He sits down to eat and realizes that maybe he should've made some for the others as well. Damage done, he shrugs and digs in instead. He feels lonely. Like when he was a kid and his peers didn't invite him to be with them in recess. It's stupid, he knows, but he can't help but feel left out. He’s so confused about everything and he just wants someone to tell him that everything’s going to be okay now. That he doesn’t have to worry anymore, that his job is done, that he’s done well. Maybe in a different universe.

~~

He waits for another ten minutes after he's done before he can't make himself sit around any longer. He ignores Scott’s plea to be alone; he’s left them alone for long enough. It's time he gets some answers. The door to the smaller bedroom is half-way open, the bat still leans against the wall beside it, and Derek tunes into the voices once he's by the stairs.

"You want to do it," Scott says, "so what's the problem?"

"The fact that you don't understand the problem, is part of the problem!"

Scott sounds annoyed and the other guy like Scott is willingly being dense. Derek comes to a halt outside the door. “Stiles, it’s been long enough, and he’s here again, anyway.”

“No, you don’t _get it_ , Scotty. I fucked up. It’s not gonna be like ‘hey, I’m back, everything’s fine!’”

“But you’ll make it up to him.”

“Not this time,” he says. “Not for this. He’s going to rip my throat out _._ With his _teeth_.” Scott sighs frustrated, but he doesn’t argue further. Derek stands still because he can _hear_ that Stiles is about to say something more and he needs to hear it because he’s pretty sure they’re talking about _him._  Stiles’ voice has turned helpless but almost amused when he says, “Wouldn’t it be quite poetic? Dying by the hands of Derek Hale?”

Derek rolls his eyes and pushes the door fully open. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Stiles jumps at the words and he hits Scott in the arm, saying he could’ve used his wolfie-senses and warned him that Derek was near.

“Well,” Stiles says, flailing, “I’m not going to take your word for it.”

He’s odd, Derek decides. There’s something about him that makes Derek… restless.

"So," Scott says. "I should let the two of you talk."

"Scott-" But before Derek can object further, Scott's halfway down the stairs.

The other guy stands off to the side and looks awkward. Derek wants to throw him up against something hard to shake the tension into something completely different.

"So..." the guy says. "We should talk, then."

"I guess we should."

"The town's in a sort of time-loop."

"I figured."

"Right."

"And?"

"And I’m guessing the whole town is stuck in mirrors."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

Derek levels him with a look and nods towards the wall of research. "Really? You don't say. What else is new?"

"There's a pizza place down the street," the guy tries to joke.

Derek's not amused. "Why could I walk through the mirror when you guys couldn't on your own?"

"You're the... key."

"Why? I haven't been to Beacon Hills in years."

"Three and a half, yeah, I know."

"Why don't I know _you_?"

"It's complicated."

Derek snorts and mutters, "Fucking hell." If he thought everything was weird before, it's nothing compared to what he's feeling right now. The guy makes him want to claw his eyes out, or maybe it's that he wants to pull him into a hug, but none of it makes sense because he doesn't know enough about him to trigger either of the responses. "Just be straight with me." A little forced he adds, "Please."

The guy laughs short and shakes his head. "Never could be," he says like he's talked to Derek before today. He looks up again, amber eyes piercing and Derek feels taken aback by the intensity of it. "Something happened when you left and it caused the town to go more bananas than ever before. It's become worse since and I don't know when we went into the loop but I'm guessing that the Nemeton decided we needed to sort of stop time before you came back? And then when I figured out that we were in a loop, and the potential reason for why we were, I tried to fix it, and it wasn’t the actual solution. The Nemeton didn’t like”—he waves around at the broken room and cracked wall”—and so t it trapped us all away."

"What does all of this have to do with me?"

"You know what, Derek, I'm going to need to drink some water and gather myself for this conversation, is that cool?"

Derek sighs. He waves the guy off before asking about his name again because even if he knows he got it just a couple of minutes ago, he can't for the life of him remember it. Stiles. Right.

As he waits for him to come back, he steps up to the board. He finds the picture of himself kissing another guy and he takes it down. It's Stiles, he realizes. The guy he's with in the picture is the same guy that's here with Scott. He can taste the answer to the mystery on the tip of his tongue but it's impossible to really piece it all together. Derek takes the picture of them down again and thumbs the already worn edge. It doesn’t make sense, he doesn’t remember Stiles, he doesn’t know who he is and yet, here’s a picture of himself kissing his cheek, looking happy doing it. Derek doesn’t remember happy. Derek hears him in the doorway. Smells the anxiety rolling off him from across the room, and Derek doesn’t know how to face him. Every time he does, it’s like his body physically rejects him at the same time as he _longs_ to be in his presence.

“Stiles,” he says. “Who are you?”

Stiles sniffs a little and waits with his answer. “Can’t believe you listened to all my stupid tapes.”

“Stiles,” Derek says again because even as he thinks it, the name is slipping away from him, but his mouth folds around it like he has said it a million times. He closes his eyes, grips the picture harshly. “Who are you?”

“I mean, it was just rambling and-”

Derek spins on the spot, can practically feel the fangs, knows his eyes flashes. He growls a third time, “ _Who are you?_ ” and forces himself to stay put.

Stiles faces him, the bat Derek picked up at Scott’s in hands. It must be his, how well he seems to know the weight and balance, and Derek feels like that’s just another part of this that he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t look like he’s about to use it, and Derek doesn’t consider the possibility. Despite Derek’s outburst, Stiles looks like they’re having a completely normal conversation. “The question you’re asking is the wrong one,” he says. “The question you _should_ be asking is ‘Who am I?’ because I can only answer for that. And you, Derek, are the love of my life.”

Derek swallows. “The what?”

Stiles steps in and swings the bat easily down on its tip and rests it against his bed. “The love of my life,” he says again. When he looks up now, Derek knows he’s telling the truth, his heart jumps but not with a lie, and somehow Derek also _knows_ he isn’t a psychopathic stalker.

“How?” he asks. “How am I… _that_?” Because at this stage, there’s no other question possible to ask. They don’t even know each other. And Derek doesn’t believe in love at first sight.

Stiles licks his lips. Carefully, he raises his hand and snaps his fingers together. There’s a small, orange and static flame from his thumb. “I have magic. And I used it.”

For a second, Derek can only stare at him. Then it hits him, like a fucking meteor to the skull, that all the pull and recoils he feels towards Stiles are not his own doing. “You hexed me.”

Stiles doesn’t shy away from the accusation, but he holds a hand up. “Correction,” he defends himself, “I used a spell on you.”

Derek swallows. For all the things he thought might happen when he went back to Beacon Hills, none of what has happened so far was on his list of possible outcomes. He isn’t so sure he wants to know the answer when he—holding back harshly and making his voice be levelled—asks, “To do what, exactly?”

Stiles smiles, a sad little thing that makes Derek ache. “Forget me.”

“You made me forget you,” Derek deadpans.

“Technically, you still forget me.”

“What the _fuck_ does that mean?”

“It means that every time you think about me, the spell makes it harder for you to remember me. Your mind reflects away from me.” That… made total sense. Every time he can’t remember his name after just hearing it, wanting him close but feeling ill about it, just… Everything makes sense. Stiles scratches the back of his head and sits down on the edge of his bed. “I thought it was just a memory charm. A little block, and I’m gone, you know?”

Derek crosses his arms. “But?”

“Turns out, it’s a reflector spell, and that you… That, when I used it, I drew too much power and it sort of backfired.”

“Stiles”—because that was his name, right?—”what exactly are you saying?”

“I think we might be soulmates.”

Ignoring the fact that that has nothing to do with the situation, Derek says, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“I think I’d know if I had a soulmate.” But he’d only call it a “mate.” His wolf would know. If there was one thing Derek remembered his parents talking about, it was how it felt to know their mate. Derek doesn’t feel that all-consuming love and affection, he doesn't feel the need and pulls and the easiness of being in his mates presence. Stiles only makes him feel conflicted and weird, off in a way that doesn't feel completely... natural. The realization hits him like another one of the cold showers. Of course, he doesn't feel right because Stiles has messed around with him. If they really are mates or soulmates or whatever the fuck, and Derek is constantly forgetting him, of course, he'll feel strange about him. His heart clenches, what if Stiles is actually right? What if Derek has had a mate for years without knowing about it? He feels even more like he's going to throw up than ever before. Derek clenches his teeth and looks up.

Stiles takes a step back. “Derek-”

Through his teeth, Derek asks, “Can you reverse the spell?”

“I… I tried doing it remotely. That went to hell and we got trapped but… I think I can take the mirror down now.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It’s sort of a blockade, and I need to demolish it.”

Derek narrows his eyes, second-guessing even asking about it. “I’m not so sure I want you messing around in my head.”

“I know what I’m doing, nowadays.”

“You just told me you ‘think’ you can reverse it after fucking it up once.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t know you, so that’s a hard _no_.”

Stiles takes a careful step towards him, extending a hand. "I think you're going to have to do it anyway, buddy." He stops right in front of Derek and Derek wants to bare his teeth. Instead, he leans back and looks down at the other man.

"What are you doing?"

The guy holds his hands up as if Derek pulled a gun on him rather than asked him a question. "Will you promise not to kill me?"

"I will make no promises, but if you're my..." He doesn't want to say it, so he just waves around. "Whatever, then I'm pretty sure maiming is off the table."

The guy laughs nervously. "Here's to hoping I'm right." He leans forward and puts a hand on Derek's shoulder, careful to show that he's going to do it before he actually puts his hand down. Derek lets him, despite wondering who the hell this guy thinks he is.

As the guy's fingers slide down on Derek's arm, Derek's entire body goes rigid and still. He feels compressed and frozen like he can't move even if he would like to. Stiles smacks the heel of his palm of his other hand straight into Derek’s forehead. There’s a crash inside his head, his thoughts cracks and scatter like broken ice. Then, everything starts flooding back. Like a monsoon of memories and feelings and thoughts and longing and passion, Derek's mind expands. He's forced to take a step back and Stiles' fingers slip off him but it feels like his hand has left a burning print and Derek gasps for breath. He remembers him now. Not for the last couple of years, not since he left the last time, but everything else. Everything from the literal day he came back from New York the first time and finding Scott _and_ Stiles in the woods, to Stiles keeping Derek afloat in a pool for two hours. From seeing him graduate high school and being proud of him not tripping on stage, to the heated first kiss they shared a year later. The block is gone and Derek looks at him, sees him, knows who he is, and it's like life as he knows it falls into place. He feels connected, grounded, present. It's everything he's never had and he wants the feeling to never to fade or go away. Derek is, completely and undeniably, home.

“ _Stiles._ ” He breathes the name; a whisper of a past he’s now remembering and a wail of sorrow for the days gone by without him.

“Hi,” Stiles pipes, voice shrill and laced with threatening tears.

“Why would you have me forget _this_?” Derek asks and he didn’t know himself how close to crying he was before he starts bawling. It's not fair, he decides, that Stiles took this away from him. He wants to be angry, boiling, screaming, but when he takes a step forward, it’s not to punch Stiles in the face but to grab Stiles’ face in his hands. He can barely see him through the tears and Stiles holds onto his wrists.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers. Derek doesn’t care. They have a lifetime to be mad and sorry and upset; right now, he just needs to hold him. He slides his hands around Stiles’ neck and pulls him in, presses his nose to Stiles' hair and finally, the scent makes complete sense. Derek feels safe and he understands why. Stiles breathes out harshly, then his arms wrap around Derek's shoulders. It's like they have missed each other for years, and even though Derek hadn't remembered to miss him for the last three, now it's like all of that is compressed into this moment. He holds onto Stiles so hard he thinks that maybe he'll smother him, but he doesn't stop. Stiles sobs against him, so it's not like there aren't any complaints, either.

“I saw how miserable this town made you,” Stiles says through his sobs, “and I was the only thing keeping you here. I thought if you didn’t have me, you could live anywhere you wanted, any life you wanted, because I couldn’t leave, not with my dad and college and Scott and everything. If you love someone...” He trails off.

 _...let them go,_ Derek thinks. He nods against Stiles, understands why he did it but he doesn’t agree. Then again, Stiles never did know the full story. He breathes in and out slowly and eases his grip ever so slightly. “Soulmate or not, Stiles, you’re my _anchor."_

Stiles pulls back and stares at him. “I’m your _anchor_?”

Derek laughs silently. “Yeah. So when you made me forget you, I didn’t have one anymore.”

“I’m such a fucking _idiot-_ ”

“Hey.” Derek grabs his chin. “I didn’t tell you. You couldn’t have known.”

“But-”

With a quiet smile, Derek interrupts again. “I love you.”

Stiles stares at him. “You… You never told me that, either.”

“I know. I should have.”

Stiles hugs him tight. “I love you, too,” he says. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much; you have no idea.”

But Derek does have an idea. For he might not have missed Stiles as Stiles since the blockade came up, but he has known that something has been missing. He hadn't figured out a new anchor because he held fast with believing that his last one was anger and that if he just concentrated hard enough it would start working again. For an anchor to shift must take a ridiculous amount of faith and reoccurring proof of its effectiveness and when anger didn't do it for him, he has been at a loss. He hasn't believed in anything else as strongly, but remembering Stiles, he remembers the fierce loyalness that also always left room for improvement and truth. That is what he has missed. Feeling seen and heard but also being called out when he's being unreasonable. Derek has missed Stiles like he's missed an extension of himself, close to like Laura had felt when she was the only one left, close to how his family had felt when they were still alive. Stiles is pack, and Derek didn't even know he had one.

"I didn't know," Derek says, "but I've missed you, too." They stay like that, holding onto each other, long after Scott has started to clear his throat and try to pry them away to take care of the rest of the town, long after their feet have gone numb and their throats have rasped out and disappeared, long after the tears have stopped falling. The world can wait. Derek is allowed to take a moment for himself, he knows that. Stiles tried to teach him that years ago, but it's not until now that he craves it enough to believe it. So, he makes the world wait for him, for once. Holds his home, his mate, his anchor in his arms and goes through every memory of him that he hasn't had access to, up until hearing Stiles say today that Derek was going to kill him when he found out what he'd done. He's going to be angry, someday, but all he can think now is that he's definitely not going to kill Stiles. He's going to _live_ with him, forever and always, and isn’t _that_ quite poetic?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Close to Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15375648) by [idkmybffspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkmybffspock/pseuds/idkmybffspock)




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